


Baby Blues

by mrstater



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Angst, F/M, Infertility, Kleptomania, Married Couple, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-18
Updated: 2013-09-18
Packaged: 2017-12-26 22:22:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/970968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrstater/pseuds/mrstater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sky has what Marie wants, Marie takes what she can get.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby Blues

"Stop here! Pull over, Hank, pull in!"

"Jesus, Marie! It’s fucking Whole Foods. There’s another one a block from the house," he says, but he hangs a hard right to turn into the parking lot, because he’s relieved she’s finally said _something_ since they left Walt and Sky’s ten minutes ago.

"We need milk," she says. "I just remembered we’re all out of milk and I was afraid I’d forget again before we got home."

"I’ll run in," Hank says, looking around for a spot. "Gallon of organic skim?"

"Just drive around, I’ll be back in a sec."

She’s out of the car before he can even come to a complete stop, or argue, and all he can do is circle the grocery store parking lot and hope he’s not going to be playing the getaway driver this time. Her purple monstrosity of a purse is still on the floor, though, and unless she’s got cash on her he knows that’s exactly what he will be. Because whenever Marie’s reminded of the one thing she can’t have, her reaction is always to take what she can get.

He’d stop her, but _he_ would have to pay, more than the few bucks whatever it is is worth. At least she’s not hurting anybody—not really—or herself. Cruising reminds Hank of his days as a beat cop; his head feels a little clearer and he rehearses the right words to say to his wife. When Marie strides calmly out of the supermarket again—damn, she’s quick— hands shoved deep into the pockets of her favorite purple jacket, fingers curled around her contraband, Hank leans across the center console to open her door for her and aid and abet her escape.

"Baby—" he begins when they’re on the road again, then, "Christ." _Fuck_. That was _not_ the right thing to say, and maybe Sky and Walt’s little announcement shook him up more than he realized, too. He tries again, at the stop light. “Marie.”

"Don’t, Hank," she whispers, head down, eyes on the small shoplifted item she holds in her palms which glow red in the light of the traffic signal above. It’s all he can do not to snatch it from her and chuck it out the window, whatever it is that comforts her more than his feeble attempt at talking does—but that’s also why he doesn’t. He clutches the steering wheel in both hands and presses down too hard on the accelerator the second the light changes to green.

"It just sucks, is all," he mutters.

Out the corner of his eye, he sees Marie’s fingers curl into a fist which she puts into her jacket pocket. When she withdraws it once again, empty, she rests her hand on his thigh, and gives it a squeeze.

"Yeah," she says. "It does."


End file.
